


(he called it) Sublimation

by apathys_whore



Series: A Skull Full of Scar Tissue [1]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, kink meme fill, never directly described but heavily referenced, tagged for rape/noncon but not between deadpool/cable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathys_whore/pseuds/apathys_whore
Summary: Cable looks just like Daddy doesn't he?  All hard frowns and angry narrowed eyes.  Any second he's gonna tell you to shut your smart mouth or he's gonna have to make you.  Mommy isn't here to save you anymore so Daddy can do what he wants.  And Daddy had.  Had he ever.  Cable even hits like Daddy and that's a massive bonus.  A fist like a truck sending him across the room and damn if Wade isn't in love.But Daddy had been big, hadn't he?  Or more like Wade had been small.  And helpless.  He remembers the crack of his big hand across his face, how it would land him on his ass, sometimes make his bouncy baby skull slam against the wall, Rorschach test of blood dripping down white plaster.  Oh the stars he saw when that happened.Oh yeah, he definitely wanted a piece of this Cable guy (a very specific piece).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OP requested, "Nate/Wade, Daddy Kink but like in an uncomfortable way.  
> So, in the comics its literally canon that Cable looks a whoooole lot like Wade’s dad. Uh, dig into that.." I asked if OP was in okay with references to incest/abuse, OP said yes, and I dug myself this grave. If you're uncomfortable with anything in the tags feel free to leave. Don't read it. It's your conscience choice to continue reading.

Cable's pretty hot, honestly. If you're into angry older men. And he is. Because he's kinda into everyone as long as they were over about 23. He can't say he has a specific _reason_ for being into him. There's just something about him that he can't quite put his finger on.

But that's kind of a lie. Oh he knows. But he's not gonna open that industrial size can of worms. Not gonna stick his hand in there and let the little squirming fuckers nibble at his fingers and make him feel wrong bad gross about it. He's been through it, okay? Just put that in the repressed memory box and move on with your life (but oh he looks _just_ like Daddy doesn't he? All hard frowns and angry narrowed eyes. Any second he's gonna tell you to shut your smart mouth or he's gonna have to make you. _Mommy_ isn't here to save you anymore so Daddy can do what he wants. And Daddy had. Had he _ever._ Cable even _hits_ like Daddy had and that's a massive bonus. A fist like a truck sending him across the room and damn if Wade isn't in love).

But Daddy had been big, hadn't he? Or more like Wade had been small. And helpless. He remembers the crack of his big hand across his face, how it would land him on his ass, sometimes make his bouncy baby skull slam against the wall, Rorschach test of blood dripping down white plaster. Oh the stars he saw when that happened (then the sound of a zipper being undone. Real slow so it made a low growl sound, not the sharp zzzert of somebody undoing their fly to take a piss. A slow rumble of intent that got the blood going, put the fear of god into an unruly little boy. Just thinking about that sound made him twitch a little, screw his already fucked up face into a weird half smile and made him chuckle a high, nervous sort of sound).

Then he finds out Cable had a daughter. How absolutely adorable! He was a bonafide, in the flesh Daddy himself! Of course he'd named her Hope. Everybody from the grimdark future named their daughter Hope. But it was a good cliché and god if finding out about that didn't make his breath catch like a damsel in a fairy tale. Oh Cable was rough around the edges, but Wade would bet that he was an _excellent_ Daddy. Super protective but in a quiet sort of way. He bet little Hope never even heard her Daddy raise his voice; probably wouldn't believe her Daddy smeared a small army of creeps into bloody pulp with the likes of Wade. And all to make sure she didn't have to bite the big one without big strong Daddy there to protect her (never never had to worry about that low, distant thunder zipper rumble because there was no way Cable was that kinda Daddy). He bet he made her pancakes on Sunday morning. Probably read her bedtime stories from a big book with a pretty princess on it. Kissed all her owies (but not the way Wade's Daddy had) and stuck unicorn bandaids on her scraped little knees. Wade was totally jealous. He probably even called her cute little names too. Pumpkin? Princess? Sweetheart? Butterbean? Cupcake? What had Wade's Daddy called him again? Stupid sack of shit! That's right!

Yeah, he was so gonna try his luck with half metal Daddy. Wade had a Plan and everything.

And that plan was: post mission victory party/team bonding at Sister Margret's! Everyone's invited! Because Wade invited them. Yeah, he knew Domino was gonna help escort all those precious orphans to castle Crude and Out of Date Metaphor for Racism along with the metal mother hen and teenage mutant ninja lesbians. And Russel. Wade was too busy thinking about how he was gonna get the D to come up with a cool name. He was sure Russ would forgive him. He was Reformed now after all.

So that left Dopinder. Which was good. Because he was their ride and he worked at the bar anyway so he was already heading there. Part the first of his delightful plan was well underway!

He sat in the backseat next to Cable, heart all aflutter like a moth's wing pounding fragile and quick against his ribs. He'd never sat next to Daddy in the car. Daddy drove. Wade sat in back. Away from him (because Daddy only wanted him close on his own terms and no matter what those terms were it _always hurt_ ). He wanted to curl himself up on Cable's lap, squish down as small as possible so he could feel diminutive and _safe_ for once in his life. That's what it would feel like. _Safe_. But Cable would probably shove him off at this point. Still too raw about not being able to see his family again most likely. But Wade was gonna be there for him. He was gonna sooth that soul deep ache of losing what you loved most. Or he was gonna die trying. And then he was gonna come back and try again.

He thanks god the second Dops switches on the radio. Wade hates silence. It always feels like a physical weight bearing down on him, like it was trying to suffocate him (and that was something Daddy liked to try. Hands over his mouth body over his shoving down down down quiet quiet quiet just shut up and _take_ it). Daddy Cable wouldn't be like that. He'd be rough probably, but he'd wanna keep it consensual, would wanna make sure Wade was actually getting off on it. He'd use safe words and red means stop kinda shit. Would actually stop if Wade asked him to. And that would be a fun thing to test in the future. Oh, he just couldn't wait!

Funky synth and intermittent base filters in over the cab's shitty speakers. Oh shit yes, Ashes to Ashes by Bowie is on! And oh this day was just getting better and better! “Crank it! This one is an absolute jam!” he yells to Dopinder at the helm of the cab. “Sure thing, DP!” he calls back, all enthusiastic to be helping. What would Wade do without his sweet Kirsten Dunst? Walk places or actually pay cab fare, probably. Yeah, Dops was an actual life saver. Unless you were that guy who he'd just run over but pedos don't count as people (did Daddy count as a pedo? Probably. He had been just a kid but Wade figured it was more of a power thing than actually being attracted to children). And was Dop driving worse than usual or something because his stomach was doing some seriously weird shit right now (think about something else or you're gonna have to make Dops pull over so you can puke. Cable isn't gonna wanna get jiggy with somebody who just pukes out of nowhere. That's like, a massive turn off). Time to let the Thin White Duke whisk him away from his woes with funky tunes.

He throws his arm around Cable and belts along with Bowie, “I'm stuck with a valuable friend! I'm happy, hope you're happy too~!” And while he isn't actually happy, he does consider both Cable and Dopinder valuable friends. “Come on, one of you has to know the words to this! Sing with me!” he whines.

“This is a song about heroin addiction, you waste of lube,” Cable growls at him. “The valuable friend is heroin.”

And duh Wade knows that already but, “they still play Bowie in the future?” Well, color him surprised.

“How far ahead in the future do you think I'm from?”

“Well in the comics it's like a thousand years but they always change things in movies.” Cable leans forward and places his head in both hands, one callused flesh and the other metal, gleaming dull and dangerous in the golden afternoon light. Poor guy. “Don't worry, I'll be you're Valuable Friend too, wink!” Cable shoves his arm off and looks out the window, decidedly ignoring him. Eh, all things considered not a bad interaction. He did make another weirdly sexual comment so it was probably a step in the right direction. But they were totally gonna use lube (because Daddy never had).

They talked through the chorus but that's fine. Dopinder apparently knows the words and has no problem making it a duet for the rest of the song. Or trio if you count that David Bowie is singing too. The song fades out in glorious 1980 fashion and a commercial for a local furniture store comes on. How anticlimactic.

After about an hour of some hit or miss tunes and heavy traffic Dop pulls up behind good ol' Sister Marg's. Wade scrambles out of the back seat like a kid going to Disney World (he can't wait to ride _these_ rides), and considers trying to pull Cable out too. Nah, better play it cool for the moment. Yeah, just act casual, natural, and not at all like he's so excited he could puke. Wade stands still, chews his lower lip beneath his mask, tries not to jump from foot to foot or shake his hips like he's some kid in class who really has to take a piss. Jesus how long does it take to get out of a car come on his plan isn't gonna work if he can't get Cable into the bar and then he's never gonna know what New Daddy's cock feels like! Why else would Cable waste his last time jump to save him if it wasn't to fuck him? And damn it the universe owes it to Wade because it's taken everything else! It just won't be _fair_ if he can't have it!

He feels a hand on his shoulder, a barely there caress that startles him damn near out of his fucked up skin. It's Cable's hand. The flesh one. Rough and calloused, dirt hanging onto his ragged cuticles and frayed nails. Had he spaced so hard that he hadn't noticed him getting out of the cab? He must have. And ain't that just the damnedest thing? Him of all people too wrapped up in his own nerves to notice the world around him still going full tilt boogy as he stands stock still. New Daddy's got a concerned expression on his weathered but handsome face and suddenly Wade feels all tingly as he just _looks_ at him. “You were standing there not moving. Seemed a little unusual for you.” And oohh Wade's heart absolutely melts in his chest and puddles in his stomach like a chocolate milkshake (Daddy never did that. Never set a hand on him whisper soft and gentle out of concern. Daddy woulda thrown a beer can at his head if he wanted his attention. Probably woulda slapped him black and blue if he thought he was being ignored) and god damn it if he doesn't wanna fall to his knees and suck his cock right there, even licks his lips thinking about it. “It's cool; my brain's a little scrambled. Sometimes I have to pause and let it buffer before it'll function.” Cable rolls his eyes and grunts (and normally that would herald something bad, rain down hell's fury on a helpless little boy but that's not what it means when New Daddy does it). Wade almost flinches away instinctively at that; too many memories left to rot in his cancer riddled brain like so much maggot caked garbage. But Cable just removes his hand and turns away, walks into the back door to Sister Marg's like he's done it a million times. And god bless us everyone because today is really starting to look up for him.

Wade saunters in after him, the fading daylight of the ally banished by the swing shut of the door. Aahh, home again home again jiggity jig (someone's got a cock for this little pig). Sister Marg's always smells like shitty booze and dirty mop buckets. Used to stink like piss too but somehow Dopinder managed to get the smell out. Turns out his secret was to clean the bathroom. Who woulda thunk it? Not that the usual patrons cared. Speaking of which, the usual cast of characters seems to be gathered today, not that Wade's paying attention to them. No, he only has eyes for one man right now. And that man is already sitting at the far end of the bar, Weasel cowering at the other. Wade throws himself on a stool in front of Weas and props his chin up with both hands. “Something got you down, good bud?”

“What the fuck is he doing here, Wade! I thought he had a time machine or something and was gonna fuck off when you guys were done?” For a guy who runs a bar full of mercenaries Weasel has a surprisingly weak constitution when it comes to being kidnapped and tied up. Why when Wade was a boy, he didn't even need to be kidnapped to be tied up and tortured. Kids these days, so entitled. Wah personal safety, wah human rights, wah bodily autonomy. None of that puts food on their tables, now does it? Weasel better not forget what brings the butter and the bread to his soft little mouth. Blood money. _Wade's_ blood money for the most part. As such, he thinks he's earned platinum fucking status in this shit hole.

“Don't worry too hard about it.” He says, patting his soft cheek. “But we hit a bit of snag on that end. And then one things leads to the other and he's gonna leave his wife for me. You know how it is; nobody can resist my charms.” He wonders if Weasel can tell how big his grin is under his mask. Probably (and Daddy always hated when he smiled. Hated when he laughed or was happy in any way. “Knock that grin off your face,” he'd say. And then Daddy'd knock it off himself anyway. But New Daddy wasn't gonna be like that. New Daddy was gonna love it when he smiled).

Weasel narrows his eyes behind his thick glasses and just looks at Wade for a long time. And okay so maybe New Daddy isn't _exactly_ leaving his wife for him but he isn't exactly not, and that's sort of the way he's been thinking of it and yeah maybe it sounds a little wrong but it wouldn't be the first time Wade's been a home wrecker (Daddy had called him that. Hadn't meant it in a sexual way because Mommy had been cold in the ground by the time he'd said it and by the time it had started being _like that._ But Daddy had liked to make sure Wade knew he wasn't wanted) and maybe he can get Cable to call him that later on. What were they talking about?

“Seriously though, why's he here?” Weasel asked again. And wasn't that just sweet of him, trying to get through Wade's thick skull to get an answer? But bffs or not a boy's gotta have his dirty little secrets, right? People say he over shares a lot but damn if they knew the shit he keeps locked up. If anything he's under sharing. He's just kind like that.

“It's complicated. Trust me, everything is going to be amazing. Just follow my lead.” Suddenly Wade leans forward and grabs Weasel by the front of his shirt and gets real close to his good buddy's face. “I swear to god if you fuck this up for me I'll look pretty compared to you. Got it?” And he's known his good pal long enough to know Weas is probably packing one of his famous fear stiffies behind the bar and if all goes according to plan he won't be the last man Wade gives an erection to tonight. Ha ha, friendship. He let's Weasel go and pats him on the head. He has nice hair. Wade misses having hair more than he'd thought he would. Or maybe he just misses having the option of having hair. Never know what you've go 'til it's gone.

He gets up from his spot and sashays towards New Daddy. And maybe he's laying it on a bit thick with the hip swish but damn if he doesn't love doing it (and Daddy had smacked him for that once, called him a faggot and told him to stop walking like a sissy. Wade always knew how to press Daddy's buttons in all the wrong ways. And all the right ways apparently. Hopefully the walk works on New Daddy too and this time it would even be intentional). Wade settles himself down next to New Daddy as daintily as he possibly can, picks his feet up to rest on one of the rungs of the cheap stool. He feels giddy like a girl on prom night, all excited and anxious about if he's gonna make prom queen.

“Oh Bar Tender!” he calls down to Weasel in a high, lilting voice, “we'll take two of you finest blow jobs please!” And New Daddy makes a weird choking sort of sound and gives him a confused look. New Daddy is so expressive! Old Daddy only ever had one look: pissed. Sure New Daddy makes the angry face a lot (and it's nostalgic in a way that burns and bleeds as much as it is wistful and longing and Wade hates that he feels that way about it but here they are neck deep in a can of worms he said he wouldn't open). But he's also seen New Daddy quirk an almost smile, had seen the stern but empathetic look he'd given him while applying chapstick and making eye contact. New Daddy looked at him like he wasn't a monster made of expired deli meats and broken promises that'd crawled out of Gary Busey's nightmares. And god if that hadn't made him feel for the first time since Vanessa died (and made him feel things that maybe she never could. Deep down dirty things that he couldn't share even with her. Like maybe this time it won't hurt. Maybe this time he'll actually love me. No more face down on a dirty mattress for Wade. He was finally moving up in the world).

“Trust me, you'll love this,” he says, patting his shoulder. And okay so maybe he was trying to ease the tension with a little alcohol. Get New Daddy nice and unwound and a little less inhibited. Not drunk, just a little buzzed. A little more relaxed. Oh the spark was there, Wade can tell. It just needs a shot of delicious, flammable alcohol to turn it into the roaring fire it's meant to be. And he knows just the guy to help with that if he'd get off his ass and serve them.

Finally Weasel makes himself useful and brings them two shot glasses full of what is, essentially, an alcoholic milkshake. Wade downs his no problem. Downing liquor as quickly and as quietly as he could is a skill he learned early. Something to make it not seem to matter as much. Something to dull the aches both physical and mental, something that could blur the present into a tolerable haze of numbness (and beneath that, a slight chance he wouldn’t have to wake up again, wouldn’t have to face the fetal light of morning drizzling in through dirty windows and passed the grimy curtains. Wouldn't have to deal with the pain and humiliation of another day because if this is all the world had to offer then maybe not waking up again was his best option). Wade hadn't cared if he lived or died since he was 10 and now the option had been taken from him. He would live no matter how much he didn't wish to. But now maybe he had a chance to fix some of that. Or pretend that maybe what had happened to him hadn't been as bad as it was. New Daddy could take some of that ache away. Make it seem alright; make it seem healthy and almost okay. That it was nothing abnormal, nothing that would mark him as broken and defective for the rest of his existence.

New Daddy eyes his drink dubiously, like the thick brown in the glass is gonna come to life and try to bite him. To be fair, Wade's not sure how clean some of these glasses are actually, and depending on who's been drinking out of them there's a decent chance it might be sentient by now. But jesus has this day been winding up the tension and for it to hit a plateau here of all places is not something he wants to deal with. “Don't reject Weasel's blow job! He made it just for you!” he urges, gently sliding the drink closer towards New Daddy.

“Is that seriously what you're calling this?” he says all serious and frown-y. And Wade could get lost in the downturn of those plush lips, in the way he wrinkles his heavy brow when he's confused by something.

“Don't tell me they don't have blow jobs in the future?” he teases back.

“Alcohol is a privilege of the rich and elite in my time,” he growls out. And that's funny because in Wade's time, alcohol is a good pass time for the poor and disenfranchised. And also the rich and elite. But they can pay to hide it better, he guesses.

“Not that kinda blow job! You know, the-” Wade plays like he's holding a dick next to his cheek and presses his tongue on the opposite side to stretch his flesh out. You know, so it looks like he's blowing somebody? Get it? “kinda blow job. I can show you, if you want. Wink.” And nobody would ever call him subtle, but he's laying it on as thick as butter cream frosting in a county fair baking contest.

“Jesus christ,” New Daddy mutters and tosses back his shot. He swallows and makes a face like somebody slapped him (he'd tried to slap Daddy once, in the beginning when he'd still thought he could get him to stop, thought his child hands could knock a grown man off of him in his panic. He'd gone to school the next day with a broken arm and a limp, head echoing “if you tell them I'll kill you” the whole day). “That had more refined sugar in it than a whole family could afford in a year,” he says with mild surprise, holding up the empty glass and peering into it like it's a kaleidoscope. It would be cute if it wasn't so exasperating. Here Wade is, trying to show him the best of what this time has to offer, and he's complaining about it. God New Daddy sure likes to be a Debby Downer, doesn't he (and Daddy had been like that too, every accomplishment shot down, every good thing twisted into bad, used to cut him down, burn him down, drown him in his own insignificance. But there was one thing little Wade was good for, wasn't there Daddy)? And is anyone else's skin crawling, or is that just Wade?

“If you don't like Weasel's blow job, I can always demonstrate my technique.” And there's that almost half smile again, humor peaking out like a full moon behind a cloud (he'd never gotten Daddy to even _pretend_ to be amused by his antics). God he'd like to show him his technique in front of the whole damn bar if he could.

“I think I'm good for now,” New Daddy says, humor trickling into his words like a pure mountain stream through an Alpine wood. And isn't Wade overdue for a nice swim? “I wouldn't mind something with less sugar though.”

“On it!” Anything for New Daddy! He jumps over the bar to start digging through Weasel's stash for the good stuff, shifting through the bottles of cheap liquor like he's gonna find Narnia on the other side, every clinking bottle misplaced bringing him closer to the prize. That looked good, some kinda fancy whiskey. A few shots of that and New Daddy would be putty in his greedy hands.

Wade pops up from behind the bar and sets the bottle down with a loud clunk. Oh yeah, this should get the show on the road.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my little chocolate chip cookies! I'm a terribly slow writer so as a show of good faith have some more! In my defense this somehow spun wildly out of control. I didn't intend for it to be this long. I've only got about 1.5 thousand more words to write, thus capping it off at 8 thousand words. I planned for 3 or maaaybe 5 thousands.

Wade pops up from behind the bar and sets the bottle down with a loud clunk. Oh yeah, this should get the show on the road.

“Wade, I've told you before, no self service!” Weasel yells from the other end of the bar. And Weasel's a good friend. He really really is. But does Sister Margret's really need him anymore? Dopinder is already doing 90% of the work with a million times the relish and zest that jaded Weasel has. He's a breath of fresh air in this cesspit. Everybody's enthusiastic little brother. But he thinks of wide eyed and excited Dops becoming as bored and monotone as good ol' Weas and his heart breaks just a little. Nah, let Weasel play king of the castle just a bit longer. But that doesn't mean he's not up for reminding him about the little _talk_ they had earlier. About how if he messes this up for him Wade was going to perform unspeakable acts of torture and mutilation the likes of which the world has never seen before. Had that been another conversation that had taken place only in his head?

“Weasel, baby, buttercup,” he says, clunking down an empty shot glass from behind the bar for each epithet, “we talked about this. You still want Mama Hammer to recognize you come Christmas, don't'cha?” And sweet, soft little Weasel pales and and makes a gagging noise and looks desperately like he's trying to swallow his own vomit. It's cute how terrified of everything he is. But more in a cute cousin you'd have kissing practice with than somebody you'd wanna fuck. Besides, they're both _clearly_ bottoms. And there's no way he's gonna give that up just to make Weasel of all people happy. He has a very healthy relationship with his prostate, thank you very much. “So, we clear on the issue?” Weasel nods dumbly in response and goes back to pretending to clean glasses. Nice try, we all know Dopinder does all cleaning around here.

“So, where were we, big guy?” Wade turns his gaze back to New Daddy and freezes, statue still. New Daddy is smiling. Full on, open and honest. He feels like a garden is blooming inside him, well tended and loved beneath a benevolent sun. It's a soft feeling, warm and gentle.

Wade doesn't have any context for that, doesn't know what do in the wake of such an affectionate look, isn't even entirely sure what it means.

“Your brain buffering again?” New Daddy asks, voice rough as gravel but kind as a gentle caress. He's being funny! He's making a callback to the conversation they had in the alley! He's been listening to Wade talk this whole time (and Daddy never listened on the rare occasion he'd let him talk and when he did he'd used his own words against him). And suddenly there's a weird lump in the back of his throat (not cancer related, surprisingly) and a stingy, prickly feeling in his eyes that seems a lot like tears. And somewhere in the dark pits of his mind he recalls that crying is bad because it makes it _worse_. Makes the hits harder, makes the cuts deeper (makes the hands holding him down on unwashed sheets clutch tighter). For an instant he's a trapped rat behind some flimsy wood lined with very breakable glass that's filled with flammable liquids. But he doesn't know what to _do_ he can barely breath and he can feel his heart pounding against his ribs like a car crash with every beat.

New Daddy's lips are moving and whatever Daddy says is always important. If you don't listen you're gonna get slammed into next week, buddy boy. He concentrates, concentrates as hard as he can and sound starts rushing back in, like somebody dialing a radio between stations to an actual broadcast. Discernible words starting to filter in through the garbled buzzing static in his head.

“I knew a guy who'd taken one to the head a few too many times. He'd blank out like that too. Not sure if you're reason is the same though,” New Daddy says casually.

Oh. Oh. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay. New Daddy isn't mad, isn't gonna tan his hide for freezing up. New Daddy is gonna wait for that little circle to stop spinning and Wade's loaded far enough to hit play. New Daddy can think it's just because he took a few too many wrought iron fences to the noggin and not because he took a few too many of _something else_ to his all over from somebody he won't mention. Relief floods him and sweeps away the ice cold panic that had been rising inside. He can feel his lungs inflate like normal, feel his heart slowing down from its frenzy.

He laughs and hopes New Daddy can't tell it's a release of nervous energy. “Why aren't you just a perfect gentleman; waiting for me to pull it together like that.”

“It's not like I have anything better to do.” And that's a double edged sword of statement isn't it? Ouch. New Daddy's not here because he just _loves_ his company (but there has to be something because _hello_ last time jump). But hey, at least it means he's gonna have New Daddy's undivided attention. He can work with that; he's done more with less.

“Lucky for you I'm just about the best anybody can do. I'm talking top of the line, the ultimate in luxury, black label craftsmanship,” he babbles as he pours out three shots of whiskey into the waiting glasses (and if that smell doesn’t remind him of Daddy then nothing will. Here's a fun fact: whiskey breath doesn't always mean whiskey dick).

“You do realize I've spent a not insignificant amount of time with you, right?” There's that almost letting himself enjoy this expression he has, like he's trying not to have a good time but he just can't seem to help himself. New Daddy knocks back a shot like a pro (Daddy drank it straight out of the bottle, one angry gulp after another. New Daddy is a real class act, drinking it from a glass like that). He scowls a bit but doesn't seem too phased by it. “I've had worse,” he says. And Wade has too. He can't help but wonder if the dead wife and kid thing is the worst that's ever happened to him or if New Daddy has a well of pain that goes deeper than that. Maybe the can talk about that sometime; compare war stories like the grizzled old bastards they are or something.

Wade rolls his mask and off, tosses it behind the bar for safe keeping, then chucks back a shot of his own. Anybody who says they enjoy the taste of alcohol is a fucking liar. It's always bad no matter how good it is but damn it if it doesn't serve an important purpose. He pushes the last shot towards New Daddy, pointer finger gently sliding it over the splintery wood of the bar. “Come on big guy, time to take your medicine. This and Wade are gonna make it _all_ better.” New Daddy rolls his eyes but pounds it like a good sport.

They sit in a silence that's somewhere between awkward but comfortable, letting the haze of alcohol start to worm its way into their heads. There's the buzz of chatter and bad music but it's hard to notice between the tension they have going between them.  Honestly Wade has had worse first dates. There was that guy with bad breath who kept blowing his nose on his sleeve. Then there was the girl who od'ed in the bathroom of a pizza place. Which was a shame because they had really been hitting it off.

Carefully, Wade leans over to New Daddy and rests his head on his shoulder, just a gentle nuzzle of cheek to arm at first. When he isn't rebuked he slowly goes slack, resting more of his weight against him. It's nice and feels more intimate than it probably should, especially in a crowded bar. But everybody here has known him long enough to never be surprised by anything he does. Especially anything as low key and quiet as this. He can smell New Daddy now; gunpowder, blood, and sweat and he's so used that combo that it's actually a comforting one by now. He wonders what smells New Daddy finds comforting? Probably stuff like his wife's deodorant and whatever baby Hope smelled like (and if Daddy ever had a comfort smell it was probably whiskey and the musty, tangy odor of dried tears and spit little Wade left on the bed). How many times has he tried not to have thoughts like that, tried to forget by any means necessary?  But they just keep slipping in like sarin gas, leaving him seizing and breathless.  But not anymore.  This was gonna change that.  New Daddy was gonna replace all the bad thoughts with good ones.

How long have they been sitting here, quietly letting the alcohol saturate their blood, letting their heads become warm and fuzzy with intoxication? Wade's body burns his off faster than he can take it in for the most part, but New Daddy probably has a buzz going by now. He's letting Wade lean on him so that means he's probably good and ready to bone down.

“You wanna see something cool?” he sighs out, head still resting on New Daddy's shoulder, face almost hidden in the crook of his strong neck. It's not his best line to be sure but it's been a long day. Give a guy a break every now and then.

“Do I have a choice?” And Wade freezes. Of course he does. It's always a choice with Wade. He kills people who take that choice away for a living, loves the feel of their hot blood saturating his suit, the wet crunch of bones beneath his hands, that high warbling shriek they give when they realize they're gonna die. Every scumbag piece of shit he smears across the floor is a personal declaration of fuck you. Every drop of blood he spills is in honor of the people unable to fight back, the people forced down, the people who were too small too and scared to make a break for it (and if every bad guy he kills seems to have Daddy's face well that's just more incentive isn't it).

“You can back out anytime you want, you know. I spent enough time around those kinds of guys to know how not to be one.” Any hint of a no and he knows to stop, of course. But god damn it please let it be a yes. Because this is gonna help him. If anything in the world was gonna fix some of his fucked up baggage, it had to be this. Right? Didn't it?

New Daddy heaves a sight like it was lodged deep under his ribs and fighting to stay there. “Yeah, show me whatever thing you think is cool.”

Wade whispers a silent thank you to the universe. He grabs his man and drags him through the hazy bar, iodine yellow lights casting an eerie glow on everything they touch. He wants this. He wants New Daddy to fuck all the pain out of him, replace it with newer, better pain. Pain that doesn't make his skin crawl with the memory of touch, pain that doesn't make his stomach turn like he drank paint thinner, pain that doesn't wake him in the middle of the night in a cold sweat with his heart pounding and his tears drying on his cheeks. Replace all the bile bitter memories eating him alive like maggots, corpulent with dreams of turning into flies.

Having your two best friends running a bar definitely had its perks. Perks like access to the storage closet with a door that locked from the inside for some reason. Oh sweet convenience, you have blessed us so we may sin.

It's a nondescript door next to the back exit, matte brown and not exactly sturdy. He turns the dull brass nob, opening the door to the gaping blackness of empty space. Wade blindly grasps at the air until his hands make contact with the pull string for the bare light bulb hanging over head. It flickers to life, illuminating a musty space with nothing more than a few cleaning supplies, rolls of toilet paper, and a mop. The mop is new. He gives New Daddy a gentle shove into the dank closet, snickers a little as he stumbles but catches his feet, holds his hand to his head like its spinning.

“Oh Daddy,” and the words fizzle and burn like pop rocks on his tongue, pleasurable and sour sweet with that undercurrent buzz of pain, “I'm gonna blow your mind.” And before New Daddy can say anything Wade's dropping to his knees like a good boy. His still gloved hands fumble with the buckle, but he's got dexterous fingers even when every muscle in his body is trembling like a man waiting for the ax to fall.  He just hopes it's a clean cut.


	3. Chapter 3

He manages to get his belt undone, slips the leather free from the brass (Old Daddy liked to make him undo his belt. Liked to make him lay on the bed while he whipped him with it. Sometimes it ended after that. Mostly it didn't). Wade pinches Daddy's zipper between his thumb and index finger, slowly drags it down. Oh he remembers this sound well; that distant thunder rumble is the soundtrack to all his nightmares. He giggles audibly in the back of his throat at that, swallows down the mix of acid and alcohol that tries to creep back up his esophagus along with all those buried memories.. No no; no puking on Daddy. If he remembers correctly that will only make it worse. But this isn't Old Daddy. This Daddy would rub his back and tell him it's okay. That they can try again later when he's feeling all better. But it's a moot point as far as Wade's concerned because he actually _wants_ to do it this time. He's been gagging for it for days and he'll be damned if he's letting a little performance anxiety get to him now especially when it's right in front of him.

He can see the fabric of Daddy's y-fronts, the bulge of his package through the thin material, feels his own cock starting to get hard in the confines of his suit. He's gonna have to wriggle out of that in a minute, and he is not looking forward to unwinding all that duct tape (thanks a million, Juggernaut). But he'll worry about that when he gets to it. Wade bites down on the tip of his right glove and yanks, gives it enough slack that he can pull it all the way off. He stretches his fingers, wiggles them in anticipation. Now or never, Wade. Daddy's only going to be cool with hanging out in a locked closet with you for so long.

Carefully he tugs Daddy's pants down just enough so his cock is free. Huh, so they still circumcise in the future. Good to know. He's got a nice cock. Not super veiny or weirdly proportioned, but not spectacularly long which is actually good. “Nobody wants to feel something banging against their cervix. It's better to be thick than long,” is what Ness had told him. Meaning she would have _loved_ Daddy's cock because no, he's not _long_ but damn is he _wide_ and he's not even hard yet! He can't wait for that to give his throat a work out and split his ass open. But you gotta prime the pump first, as it were. Get him nice and erect and ready to go.

Wade leans in, licks a hot stripe from tip to base, then back down to swirl his tongue around the sensitive head. He hears Daddy take in a harsh breath, feels the cock in his mouth start to swell. Oh yeah, now we're talking. He carefully gets it as far back as he can, mindful of his teeth. He swallows around him, lets the soft tissue in the back of his throat flex around Daddy's cock, hums a jaunty tune to up the sensation.

He sneaks a peak at Daddy, an up roll of his eyes to gauge how he's doing. Daddy's scar crossed face is screwed up tight, making him look like he's angry. And fuck that really does it for him in a way he's not gonna examine right now (or maybe ever because he's terrified of what it could mean. What if he _liked it_ what if he _wanted it_ what if _it was his fault_ and he knows none of that is true but something has him back here down on his knees for Daddy all over again and if it's not that than what is it he can't be that desperate to just be _loved_ can he?). Daddy thrusts back into his mouth and it sort of catches him off guard but this isn't exactly his first blow job. Wade moans low in his throat as he sucks him back eagerly, enjoys the taste of flesh and sweat sitting heavy on his tongue. He leans back a bit, runs his tongue around the head and teases his tip before leaning back in and sucking him down. Someday, he's gonna have Daddy choke him on his thick cock until he cums straight down his throat but Daddy's _rock_ _hard_ now. And hasn't Wade been a good boy for Daddy all night? They both deserve to go the distance. Every hole's a goal, as they say.

Back in the day (a few weeks ago) he and Ness hid some lube in with all the cleaning supplies in case things needed to get slippery in a hurry. There's a reason he knows _aalll_ about how this closet locks. He pulls off Daddy's dick with a loud _pop_. Daddy looks down at him half dazed, cock all the way out and glimmering with spit in the dim light. It's a fantastic look for him and honestly Wade wishes he could snap a few pics to remember this by but that would probably wreck the atmosphere they've got going, rendering all this boner inducing build up for naught.

Wade stands up and goes to rifle through the generic cleaning supplies in the back. They kept it hidden behind a dusty can of Scrabby Bubbles in the corner. It's just some good ol' KY, but it's great for every hole. He walks the two steps back Daddy and falls on his knees again. Wade runs his bare fingers around his waist to find the start of the tape holding his suit together. It's already trashed, maybe he should just cut a hole in the ass and be done with it. He doesn't exactly love the idea of walking out of the closet with an ass full of cum on display but sometimes that's just how it is on this bitch of an earth.

Right as he's about to give up and go for plan B he finds the seam where the tape begins and starts to hastily unwind himself. He makes three full passes around before he reaches the end with a final, triumphant yank. He wads it all up in a sticky ball and throws it into the corner. Wade hooks his thumbs into the newly created waistband and starts to push the skin tight material off, exposing his scar ravaged skin to the dank air. He doesn't wear anything underneath because he doesn't wanna ruin his lines. Let a guy have _something_ in the way of vanity. Besides, the tightness of the suit keeps his junk decently supported. It's one less thing to rip off in a mad dash to get fucked. He pulls off his boots along with the bottom of his suit and kicks them aside to join the wad of tape in the corner.

If his burnt silly putty skin bothers Daddy, he doesn't mention it, doesn't even bat an eye at how ugly he is. This Daddy's a good one, a real keeper. Wade pops the cap off the lube and pours a generous amount on Daddy's cock. Daddy hisses at the coldness of it, a quick inhale of breath between clenched teeth (and it's nice because he doesn't have any memories association with that noise and Old Daddy. This can be something just for them, just for him and New Daddy). Wade quickly fists him, giving careful, slow jerks to make sure the whole thing is nice and slick. When he's sure he's coated, Wade sits back and turns over onto his hands and knees, legs spread wide so he's on display. He takes his still lube covered fingers and slips them between his cheeks to rub at his asshole, whines as he slips one inside. He wants to be ready, but not _too_ ready. He wants it to sting a little, burn just a bit. Someday he'll stretch himself out first, three fingers wide so he'll be loose and ready for Daddy to just slide into him like a fleshlight and go to town. And god that's a hot scenario but it's not the one he wants right now. He wants his body to have a little resistance to it, wants Daddy to have to work to shove his cock in (and it had always been a struggle before. Holding down a writhing sobbing kid as Daddy worked into him merciless and raw). A shudder runs down his back that has nothing to do with physical sensation but it's fine. He can wad those thoughts up and toss them into the corner with the rest of his shit. He's got better things to worry about now.

Wade pulls his finger out, grabs his ass cheeks and spreads them, making sure Daddy can get a nice view of the goods. “Come on Daddy, it's time to go the distance.” And he wiggles in a way that he hopes is sexy and not off putting. It must work because he hears Daddy fall to his own knees with a graceless thud followed by a quick scuffle as he gets in position behind him.

Wade's on his belly on a dirty floor and damn that brings back a hot load of memories twisted painful pleasure in his gut. Daddy's rough hands clamp down on his hips to pull his ass up to meet the tip of his hard cock and finally fucking _finally_ he's getting what he's wanted for so _so_ long.

Wade's a big boy now, knows to push outwards with his muscles for the initial push in. He feels his cock, thick and hard, start to breach him. It's good bad burning as he pops in past the guard muscles, itchy and unnatural in all the best ways. “Daaaddy,” he warbles out, high pitched and needy, face pressed into the cheap linoleum, hands flexing and grabbing at nothing in front of him. It just keeps going in and in and in, forcing its way up his guts just like he remembers but this time it's eased with lube and experience (and consent). He bottoms out after what seems like an eternity, pelvis resting against his ass cheeks. And even when he's a little tipsy Daddy's being good to him, giving him a minute to get used to weird feeling of taking it up the ass. Wade pushes back against him enthusiastically, “Come on Daddy, I can take it.” And he can he really _can_ Old Daddy had made sure of that this is _easy_ in comparison god just _give it to me already._

Daddy starts to pull out of him in a beautiful, slow drag that feels like he's trying to pull his guts out. He loves it, absolutely can't get enough of that tangled mess of mixed sensations scrambling his overactive brain. Pain pleasure lust fear happy sad all screaming at him at once in a deafening cacophony that overloads him and all he can do is just lay there and take it. He loves it he hates it and the only thing he can decide is that he wants it _faster_. “Daddy, please! I've been a good boy for you Daddy! Give it to your good boy _hard_!”

Wade's not sure if it's because Daddy's actually into this or he just wants to shut him up but it works. He's got both hands holding his hips as he picks up the pace, pulling his ass into the thrust like he's a rag doll with a convenient hole. Wade loves it. It's just like old times only now Daddy's hitting his prostate, sending electric pleasure shivers all up his spine. “You never made it good before Daddy,” is tumbling out past his lips before he can stop it and he feels his stomach drop down so far in his gut he's worried Daddy's cock might touch it. But Daddy's being kind to him for once, doesn't stop to slap him around, doesn't shove his face into the cold hard ground and tell him to shut up and Wade's so grateful, so fucking grateful for his Daddy. His Daddy who finally loves him, his Daddy who's making him feel good.

And it's honestly the least he could have done. Daddy could have at least tried to make it not hurt so much for all those years. He doesn't think it would have been too much to ask even. But it's fine now. It's okay now. He's fine with the way Daddy's cock is stretching him out, the way it feels so big and hot and hard inside him.

A keening moan slips out of his throat as he wraps his hand around his own cock to pump in time with Daddy's thrusts. He's so full, so gloriously full with cock and happiness and catharsis he almost wants to puke. But he won't because he wants this to go well, wants to be on his best behavior just to prove that he can be a good boy when he's treated right.

He pushes his ass back against Daddy, wiggles his hips to encourage him, clenches down lightly to tease him. It must have been the right choice because Daddy makes a noise like an angry bear and shoves into him extra hard, knocking his prostate dead on. Wade screams and does his best to push back on the cock splitting him open, wails like he's being gutted when the next thrust hits with the same intensity. And it's amazing and intense and he can't believe he's gotten this lucky and he doesn't mean to, but he realizes he's crying and he can't seem to stop. He's babbling and crying and jerking off with a rock hard cock fucking his ass and he can't tell if this is a new low or a new high.

“You're so good to me Daddy.” It's garbled by hiccuping sobs and gasps which is probably for the best. He's not sure if he wants Daddy to be able to tell what he's saying anyway. And he's so close, he's so fucking close to coming and the words won't stop oozing out of him like blood from a fresh wound. “Don't hurt me again Daddy! It doesn't have to be like that anymore!” And it doesn't. It can be like this all the time now. Him and Daddy and lube and consent just going at it in every dark corner. And it feels so good, it feels so fucking good he couldn't stop his orgasm even if he wanted to. It rips through him like a wild fire, all consuming and leaving only disaster in its wake as he shudders and clamps down on Daddy, every muscle in his body going taut as wave after wave of pleasure hits him.

Daddy fucks him through it and keeps going until he's an oversensitive mess of nerves and drool, crying and babbling, “please cum in me again Daddy. I want it I want it in me!” And that must have been too much because to his surprise, Daddy gently wraps his arm around his shoulders to reach around and cover his mouth. And it's not forceful or angry, just a gesture to ask for his silence. But he remembers this. He remembers this too well and he's not sure how he feels about it. He should be okay with this. He should probably _like_ this because it goes with fantasy but it doesn't _feel right_. It feels Bad and Scary and before he knows it Wade's tensing up his muscles and starting to tremble because He Doesn't Like This and he doesn't know how to stop it.

It's unfortunate that Daddy chooses that moment to finish, giving a low, guttural growl as pumps him full of cum. And he asked for that. Part of him's glad to have it too. The other part is just glad it's over. Daddy's thrusts slow to a halt before he pulls out of him with a sticky pop. Wade can feel a mix of cum and lube dribble out of his ass and tickle at his stretched out hole. And that's a nice feeling, he tells himself. He's pretty sure this went better than expected. So it's probably weird when he collapses into a heap and can't seem to stop crying. And that's not right. He shouldn't feel like this; shouldn't feel dirty and humiliated and scared _again_ for fucks sake! It wasn't supposed to _be like that again_ god damn it!

“I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!” just keeps pouring out of him and he doesn't know why but for some reason it's the only thing he can think to do. On instinct alone he scuttles on his hands and knees into a corner, sits in a fetal position against the wall. This is just like the first time, he thinks in a blind panic, only now if his arm gets broken it'll heal right away. No school nurses calling home to ask questions.

He's hiccuping quietly into his knees, trying to hold the tears back and more or less failing when Daddy sits down next to him. With slow, measured movements he extends his arm to wrap around Wade's heaving shoulders, but this time his hand doesn't move to cover his mouth. It just sits there, sweet and calm. Wade isn't entirely sure he wants to be touched right now, isn't sure that it will even do anything but make his skin crawl that much worse. But he appreciates the gesture anyway.

He sits there for a minute, crying and shaking and trying to catch his breath.  And yeah, he decides the arm is nice; for the novelty at least. Daddy comforting him, Daddy with his arm around him after he fucked him to orgasm. He curls into the arm around him, wraps his own arms around Daddy's chest and nuzzles into him. He can work with this. This can be a fresh start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuhhh yeah. That's it. I am thinking about dong a much shorter companion piece to this from Cable's pov. We'll see how this goes though.


End file.
